


Can’t Let Go, Won’t Let Go

by Crymore



Series: Raylin Palmer [5]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, I didn’t realize how fluffy my writing was until I tried to write through mick, fix-it AU, micks point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 16:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15800745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crymore/pseuds/Crymore
Summary: Mick’s point of view of Raylin’s and Snarts relationship, from beginning, to Len’s “end”.





	Can’t Let Go, Won’t Let Go

Despite popular belief, Mick Rory was no fool. 

Mick knew Snart better than how Snart knew bank vaults. Boss was just as tricky and temperamental. The second they got on the stupid time ship with the skinny Brit, Mick knew in an instant that Snart would fall for Haircut. 

But Snart, being Snart, naturally tired his attraction out with Blondie first before moving to Haircut. Mick also knew he would do this. 

Boss had always gone for the obvious first. Sara was sarcastic, kickass, and was good enough at cards to keep Len entertained for hours. She had fit Boss’s bill so easily it wasn’t any wonder why he went in for her. But Mick was patient (at least in certain aspects) and he knew that Snart would come around. It would take maybe three days for Boss to realize that Sara acted too much like Lisa then that whole mess would be nipped in the bud. 

It actually took four, and Mick mentioning the likeness for Boss to wise up. 

Then, Mick saw the beginning of Len pining the second Raylin got angry. 

It was after the Russian Dilemma (t), and naturally, things were tense on the ship. Stein would snap at Jax, Jax would snap back. Sara and Kendra sparred just a bit too roughly but neither said anything about it. Len would sulk around the ship and throw biting comments at Rip and, well, everyone save Raylin, who had rarely left her room for the mission. 

After Gideon fixed what she could and had given the scientist the green light, Ray had only left her quarters to go to the bathroom. Mick was pretty sure she hadn’t eaten since they got back either. 

Mick wasn’t exactly a bucket of daisies either. He’d been bitching and moaning about quitting the team, Snart and partnerships be damned. But the whole ship seemed far more off with Raylin upset. 

It’s like a bad omen, having the happiest person on the team miserable. Like the sun turning black. 

It was around dinner time (who could really know on a time ship) and Rip was pulling teammates from the lab, cargo area, and bedrooms. 

Rip was leading Snart and Mick to the dining area when he stopped in front of Raylin’s door. 

“Gideon, please open Dr. Palmer’s door.”

Len looked apprehensively (or as much as he could) to the door. To anyone he would look stone faced, but Mick knew better. He saw the nervousness and guilt on his partner’s face. Mick guess that whole “let’s leave the chick who probably save your sorry life behind because fuck that effort, and leave the suit so she has the suit she’ll be fine despite that she’s out completely cold” thing was still eating at him. Good. Mick was still kinda pissed he did that. 

Ray might have had a bigger heart then brain, but anyone who’d take a beating like that for him was automatically pally with him. It’s just what you do.

“Sorry Captain, Dr. Palmer has requested to be left alone.” The automated voice rang around them. 

Rip huffed and ordered some over ride to get the door to slide apart. 

Immediately, a wrench came through the opening. Rip had to throw himself to the side to avoid getting hit. The tool left a small dent in the wall and Mick started laughing so hard it drowned out whatever Ray was screaming about. Something about a coolant or whatever. 

Rip looked at the now closed door with a look of fear and Snart’s face isn’t too unalike it. 

Mick was still laughing, leaning on the wall with aching lungs and a lifted spirit. 

“Well,” Rip huffed, straightening himself up and staring at the door with trepidation now, “I think Dr. Palmer still need some time to recover from out last mission.”

Len threw their leader a ludicrous look and Mick wheezed. 

“You /think/?” Len drawled, a single eyebrow raised. 

The two captains left, Mick stayed behind to catch his breath. Once alone in the hall, Mick shrugged and walked to the door. If Ray was feeling as shitty as that little stunt suggested, she didn’t need dinner, she need a shoulder. And Mick was pretty sure he would be the only one that Ray wouldn’t kill. 

The door slid open easily and Mick wagered that Gideon agreed with him on his sentiment. 

Ray was at her desk, tinkering on the suit, now medium sized. She didn’t even look up or say anything, just huffed a sigh and kept on working. 

Mick got as far as standing right behind her before she acknowledged his presence. 

“What is it, Mick.” 

The pyro was half expecting bite, maybe even annoyed tone, but what he got was a weary voice of a too-tired woman. He suspects Ray hasn’t slept since they returned. Then again, neither had Snart. 

“What’s eating at you, Haircut?”

Mick was expecting a punch to the face, that’s what Len did when the topic of feelings was brought up. He wasn’t expecting the scientist to toss her tools on to the table and groan. 

“I feel like an idiot.”

Mick shrugged and leaned against the table to face the hero. “Regretting taking that beating for me?” He wouldn’t be surprised if she did, wouldn’t even blame her. Gideon could only do so much, and the pyro had heard Ray’s labored and pained breathing after Gideon gave her the green light to leave the med bay.

Raylin looked shocked at Mick’s suggestion. “What? No, heaven’s no, Mick!” She exclaimed, looking like a sad puppy up to Mick through her eye lashes. “It’s not about that, it’s just some stupid personal stuff. It doesn’t have to do with the gulag.”

It might have nothing to do with Mick, but it defiantly had to do with the gulag. To show he knew that, he leveled Ray with a deadpan look. 

She crumbles instantly, resting her head in her hands. “It’s stupid, really.”

“You are the most emotional person on this ship, always taking about how people should feel whatever they want without shame or whatever,” Mick started, looking intently at Ray. “But you won’t let yourself feel anything bad.” Ray looked at him with wide and curious eyes, digesting his words. Mick decided he sounded too smart. He best ace up his sleeve was being the dumb one. “It’s fucking confusing, Haircut.”

She actually laughed at that. Short and harsh, but genuine. Well, small victory to Mick. Rip gets a wrench to the face, Mick gets a laugh. 

“Do you want to talk about why I’m upset now or why I have a hard time being upset.” She question, still chuckling slightly.

Ray was smart, knowing that Mick typically gets skivved out by discussions about feelings. Giving him two options about only emotions was sure to make him run off so Ray could return to sulking. It was a game of chicken. But instead of him and Snart glaring at each other across a room until one of them launch themselves at the other for whatever reason they were fighting for, it was Ray versus Mick to see if Mick was genuinely interested about talking about her feelings. If Mick declined and left, Ray would go back to her slump. If he said yes and didn’t pay attention, Ray’s feelings would get more hurt. 

Mick has never lost a game of chicken.

“Let’s get the psycho-shit outta the way first.” He huffed, sliding down to the floor. He looked up at Ray, who seemed surprised at the willingness Mick displayed. “Whatever fucked you up in the past probably explains why you’re so pissy now.”

Ray laughed quietly again. 

“You really want to have a discount therapy session?”

Mick shrugged. “Well, you ain’t gonna be crying to Sara about your problems. Might as well be the only person in the ship who can keep a secret you should bitch to.”

Ray smiled and went to her bed laying down flat. Nick snagged the now vacant chair and dragged it over to the bedside. Ray rested her hands, still covered in oil, over her stomach.

“I think my problems start with my father.”

“Who’s don’t?” 

The hero laughed again, her back arching off the bed and her eyes closed. Mick thought for a split second she was pretty before reminding himself that if Snart found out that he thought that… well, not good things would follow. 

“Seriously. My dad always wanted a boy, and he had one,” she rushed. “He had Sydney, but I was doing the things he wanted Sydney to do.”

“You saying your brother didn’t wanna be a girls scout?”

At this point Mick was making an effort to get Ray laugh. If she was laughing she wasn’t moping. And a moping Ray is never a good thing.

Ray did chuckle before continuing. “I meant I was smarter. Than Sydney and dad and everyone I went to school with. I skipped three grades you know, I even started college at sixteen.”

Mick didn’t know that, but he wasn’t all that surprised. 

“And dad…” she sighed. “Dad wanted Sydney to be the one blowing teachers away and excelling at everything. He bragged about Syd getting a B in a class but never even mention me and my achievements to anyone. Like it didn’t matter because I was a girl.”

“Your dad sounds like a dick.”

“Thanks.” She said softly, a little teary. 

Mick had the sudden realization that Ray had probably never told anyone about this. She might have told her dead fiancée, Anna, he thinks (he read it somewhere in the papers), but that was ages ago. So he just let her go on.

“And then when dad died, he still barely left anything to me. Gave it all to mom and Sydney. The only I got was the starting tuition for a college I never planned on going to. Like, who says in their will ‘Well, she’s too smart, so I’ll give her money only if she goes back to high school and goes to this college and becomes an art major’!” She mimicked a deep voice as she spoke then looked to Mick. “It was insulting!”

Mick nodded solemnly. “I take it back, your dad’s not a dick, he’s a grade a asshole.” 

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Then things got worse when I went to college.”

“You were a sixteen year old prodigy, can’t imagine you had many friends.”

Ray scoffed. “I didn’t have any.”

There was a beat of silence and all of Ray’s clinginess was suddenly explained. Why she never stopped talking to her ex, Felicity, even though she dated her while she was in love with someone else (Sara’s quite the gossip when drunk), why Ray tries so hard to make the team work. 

“Every time I got upset in class, or during a lab, the teachers or the male students would start saying things like, ‘this is why women shouldn’t be in this field’ or ‘She can’t concentrate at all and she’s distracting’ like I didn’t get higher grades than all of them and graduated top of all my classes.” She bite, huffing. 

Mick nodded, and crossed his finger together, trying to look like an old timey shrink in the office chair and his gasoline stained clothes. His efforts went appreciated when Ray glances over and chuckled at his stance.

“So,” Mick started, “you feel that if you’re anything but happy-pappy and determined, everyone will flock to you like sharks and you’re bleeding in the water?”

“It doesn’t help that Rip looks like one of my old professors that tried to fail me just because I was a girl.”

“Jesus, did you go to school in the fifties?”

“Nah, rural upstate New York.”

They talked about stupid things after that. About heat gun upgrades and what they’ll do after Savage is dealt with. Ray was a big baseball fan turns out, and used to be in softball before she left for college. Mick bragged he was the best at prison baseball, then again he was the scariest one there and the other kid inmates were too scared to call him out. Ray suggested he get new glasses frames since Mick’s seemed more blended and melty than normal and Mick told her that the ATOM suit needed a flame thrower. 

Mick left hours later after a rousing debate about over the better musical, Rent or Fiddler on the Roof, and it was only when he laid on his bed, across the room from Snart, that the pyro realized that Raylin never told him what was bothering from the gulag. 

—-

Out of all of Snart’s significant-whatevers, Raylin was Mick’s favorite. She was funny and thoughtful and loving in ways Leonard never was. 

Ray made dumb jokes and witty comments. Len made puns with snark in spades. Ray thought about how to make things better, people and inventions and the world, never stopping for a second to give thought to herself. Len thought about how many camera’s were present, how many cops, how many rule were about to be broken and how many seconds ahead he had to stay, how he could get people to like him then use that affection for his own gain, rarely sparing a thought about anyone else but himself. Ray loved selflessly and stupidly, the bleed heart; not caring about the inevitable heartbreak or the betrayal, happy with the little returned and the so much taken. Len loved selfishly and rightly so; in a world where anyone could snatch away your heart he protected it like a junk yard dog but twice as vicious; taking and collecting and filing away as much as he could, putting that love in jars and labeling them for a rainy day, barely letting any of his own slip through the chinks of his armor. 

Mick always thought it was funny, how alike Len and Ray were. Practically each other, yet so different. To Mick it made sense, through the little things. Ray looked up when she thought, to the sky, to the heavens, drawing ideas from God and angels and the stars and the universe; face up and neck exposed to those on the same plane as her. Len looked downward in thought, the the ground where his roots were with his bastard father below the earth, to the the devil for sly ideas, the shadows the the downward tilt created hid his face, hid his eyes, hid the race of excitement when he pulled together a plan. 

Like ying and yang, heaven and hell, sun and moon, fire and ice (well, in Raylin’s case more like an unrelenting warmth that refuses to go away. Mick stands by being the fire to Len’s ice). 

It was a good pair. They were disgustingly crazy about each other, one alway within three feet of the other no matter what. Mick knew that was because Len like to keep an eye on thing he considered his (oh, poor Lisa in grade school who had a drop out brother who insisted on waking her to and from school every single day) and because Raylin seemed to draw from confidence. Once, she even told Stein to be quiet. The demand was so un-Ray-like it stunned the room’s occupants. It was awesome. 

Mick was completely happy with their union. He was thrilled with Len finally finding someone who didn’t see him as a pet project to fix or some bad boy to run around with before going back to the bland. Raylin was in love with Len, in every gross and emotionally gushy way. Len was in love with Ray, in a wholly consuming and heart-breaking way. It was all very sweet. Len was finally getting something that resembled the white picket fence Len had idolized from youth (Len, for some reason, was determined to get married and have a kid when he was younger, to treat them right and show his father that he could be a better man than Lewis could ever dream of being. The biggest fuck you to Lewis, in Len’s humble opinion, was being successful).

And Mick would be damned before it ended. 

So, Haircut was destined to die for the stupid fucking team at this vanishing point. Yeah, fuck no. Not on Mick’s watch. The pyro might not be able to give Leonard much, but he could, at least, let him keep one of the only things he loved safe. 

Mick was no fool, no idiot. Maybe a bit slow. Too slow. He didn’t even have any thoughts beside “Keep Raylin safe, keep Leonard safe, keep them together,” until Len apologized of all things, and Mick’s stomach swooped unpleasantly. Because, yes, Len would fist fight anyone who tried to harm the short list of people he cared about; Raylin and Lisa and his grandfather Lukas. The second the cold gun made contact with the nerve in Mick’s neck did he remember that he himself was on that short list. 

He woke up in the med bay with a grieving team, an emotionally absent Raylin, and no Snart. Mick grunts and ignores the weighty feeling of guilt in his stomach because he can’t worry about not seeing Len’s motive and intentions from the get go, because now he had to take care of Raylin. Because Ray would shrink into herself, blame herself, bear every problem like it’s the world and she’s Atlas, and Mick needs to be there to remind her she’s human with bad jokes said in a dead pan manner and force her to sleep by drugging her food if necessary.

Later, Randal Whatever gets his. Mick gets to torch him and he feels better after, but Raylin still has tears sticky in her eyes and at the end of the fight goes to sleep in an empty bed with no cold puns being said in lieu of “good night.” Mick knew she rather have a crook to share a bed with than a dead man with the title of hero, which seems so hollow now. 

And it sucks. Because Mick misses Len and so does Ray and everyone else. It’s not unlike to Mick seeing a friend lose and arm or leg and knowing you could have prevented the accident. He hates the feeling. He wants to carve it from his skin and burn it to ashes then do the same to Raylin because she needs freedom from dead loved ones more than Mick does. Because she’s already lost Anna to the reaper, and Felicity to the Arrow Guy, and who knows who else due to circumstances he doesn’t know and it’s a feeling of horrible frustration to Mick because he can’t do anything to make it even a little okay. No amount of jokes or alcohol or having Ray fiddle with his gun is going to lift her mood even an iota. And Mick feels like he’s failing Len because that’s what Mick should be doing.

It eats him alive. Mick’s not accustomed to grief the way Raylin is. Ray can grin and bear it and lie well enough to seem fine. Mick just grunts and snarls when people get to close (unless it’s Ray because Mick will never be rude to Ray again).

Then things get better, or worse. 

Because Mick wakes up from a drunken stupor to Sara screaming. He thinks the ship’s under attack before he hears her order Gideon to prepare the med bay. Then he thinks Ray did something stupid and that spurs him on to getting up fully and moving to the deck to see the commotion. 

He sees Stein, looking grim and perplexed, and Kendra, looking frantically to the hall where Raylin’s room was, and Sara and Rip pulling Len from under his arms towards the med bay. 

Len. 

An unconscious Len. 

A Len who was meant to be dead. 

Well, if he survived that explosion, he’s not going to survive Mick beating the shit out of him for sacrificing himself when he finally had what he wanted. 

Then Ray walked in, half awake and confused before she saw Len’s body. Then promptly fainted. Kendra rushed to her side and Mick following close behind. 

Snart woke up hours later, after Stein and Rip ran a lot of weird test with weird devices on Len’s unconscious body. 

The skinny of it was that Len was registered as debris to the timestream, and it spat him out because he wasn’t meant to be there. There was a lot more words that Raylin seemed to understand but that was all about Mick could get before he went back to his room to grab Len’s gun and ring. The dumbass had the balls to plant them on Mick before his little stunt, the dick. 

Snart wakes up, Ray and Sara cry. Mick gives him a black eye for all the trouble he caused and happily goes back to his room to sleep as Boss and Haircut went to their rooms to get… formally reacquainted. 

Later, Len wakes him up with the lights still off by shoving Mick’s shoulder harshly and talking loudly enough for it to be annoying. 

“Still wanna leave the ship?”

That was a stupid question. Of course Mick did. He didn’t want to be a hero like the others, especially now that Len’s back, Mick wants to snatch him and fuck off back to it-doesn’t-matter because holy shit Len had died and fuck-

Mick grunts in affirmation. 

“Good. Thinking ‘bout time we head home.”

Len must share the sentiments of heroics. Death must have scared him enough to go back into being a crook and Mick was just fine with that. 

“We taking Haircut?”

“That’s the plan.” Of course Len wouldn’t leave Raylin behind. 

Mick chuckled. “Good luck with that.” Len can give up good deeds no problem, it was Ray addicted to the greater good. 

Len chuckled with him. “Already done. Pack your bags; we’re going home.”

Packing can wait until later, Mick still needs to catch a few hours. 

—-

The team was oddly okay with them leaving. I mean, Len died, he fulfilled his duties above and beyond, and Len and Mick were a packaged deal. Where ever one went the other was shortly behind. It was Ray that shocked people in her stepping down. She gave a whole big and nice speech with a bow on top that Mick didn’t really listen to, but it made Stein, Jax, and Kendra tear up and made Rip give them the green light, so it did it’s purpose. 

They took their meager possessions (Ray’s were all shrunk down for convenience) and step off the ship with goodbyes into the cold, crisp winter air of Central City, 2016. 

Mick wanted his bed at his favorite safe house, but Len made the trio go to one of the bigger apartments instead since there was more room and stocked with food. Len is already verbalizing plans to cut the leases with all the safe house within the next week and laying low in one of the warehouses that’s been decked out for living accommodations. Ray agrees with little questioning and just holds Len’s arm the whole time they talk. Mick can’t bring himself to be annoyed. 

It took less than three hours to hock a car, reactivate their bank accounts, get the keys, and make their way to the homely apartment.

Len opened the door and was greeted with a gun to his face.

“You have two seconds before-“ Lisa cuts herself off at the sight of her big brother. 

“Lisa.” He drawls, carefully pushing the gold gun away from him. “You would not believe the day I’ve had.”

Lisa slaps him before hugging him. 

The wonderful crisp air and the snow on the ground wasn’t from the January the Rip took them from, it’s from the November later that year. Close enough that Mick doesn’t care because he was apathetic, not that Raylin would care because she’s legally dead and has no one waiting on her, but long enough for Len to spill his guts about everything to Lisa to someway appease her for abandoning her for eleven months. 

Lisa listens intently, eyes flickering to Raylin (who was dozing off on the couch) frequently with a cold and calculating look in her hazel eyes. 

From the kitchen, Mick sighed as he stuffed some sugary processed pastry into his mouth. Yay, they’re back home, boo, Lisa doesn’t like Ray. 

Well, at least Mick has his twinkies (and best friend) again.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think mick either thinks like a poet or a non playing character of a video game. No in between


End file.
